


Butterfingers is Aptly Named (But Clint Likes Him Anyhow)

by celtic7irish



Series: Avengers and AIs [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 12:49:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2548079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celtic7irish/pseuds/celtic7irish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint’s grin widened.  "So...which one is that?" he asked casually, pointing to the bot that Tony had been threatening a moment before.</p><p>Tony debated not answering for a moment, but figured it couldn't hurt.  "Butterfingers," he replied bluntly.</p><p>Clint cocked his head.  "What's with the horrible naming sense?" he asked.  "What did you name the other two? Snickers and Twix?"</p><p>Before Tony could retort, there was a loud clang followed by a thump and a series of clatters.  Butterfingers made a distressed noise, having just dropped the fire extinguisher onto a table and knocked both it and an Iron Man boot to the floor.  "It's accurate," Tony pointed out practically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butterfingers is Aptly Named (But Clint Likes Him Anyhow)

“No, stop that! What are you! No, no, no, no! Stop pointing that at me, or so help me, I’ll turn you into a vacuum cleaner!” Tony warned, both hands out to ward off the fire extinguisher pointed his way.  “Besides, I haven’t set fire to anything in months,” he complained, insulted that his bot still didn’t trust him.

 

There was a muffled chuckle somewhere above his head a moment later.  “That’s just sad, Stark, that you have a bot ready with a fire extinguisher just in case.”

 

To his credit, Tony did not jump.  Instead, he just rolled his eyes, shooing Butterfingers away.  The bot whirred sadly, drooping, but he backed off, which was the goal, after all.  “Barton, crawling in the vents again, are we?” he snarked, unimpressed.  “Didn’t anybody ever tell you that it’s rude to spy on people?”

 

There was a soft scrape of metal before the grate above Tony’s workshop was opened and the archer dropped out, grinning recklessly.  “I’m a spy, Stark.  It’s sort of in the job description.”  His eyes wandered over the room, eyeing Tony in his new armor and the bots spread throughout the room.  Dummy was in his charging station.  You was off to the side, holding a camcorder.  Butterfingers, of course, was still standing nearby, holding the fire extinguisher, which he had raised again the moment Tony’s attention had turned away.

 

“Do you often set fire to things?” Clint asked curiously, his eyes bright and amused.

 

Tony shrugged.  “On occasion.  Kind of comes with the job,” he pointed out.  “I invent things. On occasion, that leads to explosions.”

 

Clint smirked at him from his perch on the top of a shelving unit.  “I’m pretty sure that more explosions occur here than are absolutely necessary,” he said cheerfully.  Tony didn’t protest the assertion, and Clint’s grin widened.  "So...which one is that?" he asked casually, pointing to the bot that Tony had been threatening a moment before.

 

Tony debated not answering for a moment, but figured it couldn't hurt.  "Butterfingers," he replied bluntly.

 

Clint cocked his head.  "What's with the horrible naming sense?" he asked.  "What did you name the other two? Snickers and Twix?"

 

Before Tony could retort, there was a loud clang followed by a thump and a series of clatters.  Butterfingers made a distressed noise, having just dropped the fire extinguisher onto a table and knocked both it and an Iron Man boot to the floor.  "It's accurate," Tony pointed out practically.

 

Clint didn't even bother to try and muffle his snicker, hopping off the shelf he'd been perched on and strolling over to the pitiful AI.  He pat Butterfingers lightly on the strut, eyeing Tony askance.  "Don't worry about it, Butterfingers," he murmured.  "You know your daddy doesn't really mean it."

 

"Barton," Tony warned darkly.  The archer just grinned at him before turning back to the bot.  "How would you like to help me for a while?" he asked lightly.  Butterfingers lifted his head, tipping it curiously to the side as he made an inquiring hum.  Clint grinned.  "Yeah? Great! Let's ask your dad, shall we?"

 

"Ask me what?" Tony demanded sourly, his arms crossed over his chest.  Anything Clint wanted one of his bots for couldn't be good.

 

Clint stood up straight and faced him.  "I'd like his help on the range," he replied bluntly.

 

Tony's brow furrowed.  "For what? I mean, unless you want him to fetch arrows, which would really just faster if you did it yourself," he pointed out.  And if that's all Barton wanted, Tony was going to have to seriously re-evaluate his friendship with the archer.

 

Clint shook his head.  "Naw, nothing like that," he replied. "Not that I'd object if he wanted to or something," he added, his eyes amused.  "I just want him to help me with targeting practice.  I won't be targeting _him_ , of course," he assured Tony before the engineer could kick his ass into next week.  "I'm sorry, Tony, but your 'random' targeting system isn't worth jack shit.  So I was going to ask for a bit of help.  I think this guy'll do fine," he said, patting Butterfingers firmly on his strut.  The bot practically preened at the praise, and Tony eyed them both skeptically for a moment.

 

Finally, he sighed, turning away and flapping his hand dismissively.  "Yeah, sure, whatever, Barton," he grumbled.  "Just don't destroy my bot, or I'll have your hide," he threatened.  "JARVIS, give Butterfingers permission to access the firing range when Birdbrain is present."  The last thing he needed was for the bot to wander into the firing range while Natasha was there.  Or, even worse, when there was nobody else present at all.

 

 _"Right away, sir,"_ JARVIS replied promptly.  Clint held his hand out for a high-five, which Butterfingers gave him a moment later, gently tapping his open claw against the other man's hand.  Clint was delighted, and Tony very carefully didn't acknowledge that he just might have taught the bots how to do that when he was younger.  Instead, he turned back to his work, hardly noticing when Clint and Butterfingers left the lab.

 

Twenty minutes later, he was being called out on an Avengers emergency, and everything was forgotten as he saved his work and suited up.  He'd worry later.

************

 

It was nearly two weeks before Tony remembered to check up on his bot and make sure that Clint hadn't damaged or otherwise corrupted him.  Butterfingers seemed perfectly fine when he was in the lab, and he was much happier in general.  So one day, in between repairing the Iron Man armor, working on a suit that would stretch and shrink with the Hulk, and finding food and a bed, Tony wandered down to the firing range.

 

“Aww, Buttercup, no,” Clint murmured as his arrows clattered to the floor, the bot having grabbed his quiver upside down.  Butterfingers beeped apologetically, and Clint allowed himself a small smile, running his hand soothingly along the bot’s struts.  “Don’t worry, you’re still my favorite,” he reassured the bot cheerfully, making the bot whir, his claw waving up and down. And accidentally knocking into the bow that Clint was clutching in his right hand.  Clint just sighed, moving his bow safely out of the way of the clumsy bot.

 

Tony stopped in the doorway, staring at the scene the two of them made, Butterfingers hovering near Clint, helping the archer carefully pick up his arrows so he could put them back in the quiver.  “Buttercup?” he managed to choke out, holding back his laughter as he grinned at the archer.  To his credit, Clint didn’t flinch.

 

Clint looked up at him and shrugged.  “He doesn’t seem to mind, and it’s less of a mouthful than Butterfingers,” he answered easily.  Tony rolled his eyes; it wasn’t _that_ much shorter. One syllable, that was it.

 

“By the way, thanks for lending him to me, Tony,” Clint commented off-handedly.  Tony blinked, frowning slightly.  When Clint had asked if he’d mind sparing a robot to help him on the range, Tony had seen the perfect chance for revenge for all those times that Clint scared the crap out of him, dropping from ventilation shafts or speaking suddenly from a high, shadowy perch.  Butterfingers had earned his name within minutes of coming online, clumsier than even Dummy most of the time.  But he had heart, just like his brothers, and Tony didn’t have the heart to try and ‘fix’ him.  Butterfingers was who he was, the same as all of them, and Tony loved him regardless.  Still, that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t put Butterfingers to optimum use when a request like that came from out of nowhere.

 

Clint moved over to the row of tables sitting along the back of the archery range, Butterfingers trailing after him like an eager puppy.  As Tony watched, amused, Clint handed the bot a small stack of paper targets. Butterfingers whirred uneasily and Clint grinned at him.  "No exploding arrows this time," he promised.  Butterfingers tilted his head while he considered that.  Then, with a quick noise of agreement, he trundled away, the targets clutched in his claw attachment.  Every few feet, a sheaf or two would slip from the pile.

 

"Exploding arrows, Barton?  Seriously?" Tony demanded, glaring at the archer, keeping half an eye on his bot as he moved towards the center of the range.

 

Clint just shrugged unapologetically.  "It wasn't intentional, Stark," he shot back.  "You're the one who replaced all my arrows without telling me."

 

Tony just raised an eyebrow, unimpressed with the other man's logic.  "Right," he scoffed.  "Are you actually trying to tell me that you can't tell your arrows apart?"  Given how effective the archer was on the field, Tony doubted the validity of such a claim.

 

As he watched, Butterfingers held up one of the targets, lifting it above his chassis.  Clint raised his bow, taking aim, and Butterfingers started waving the paper and shifting on his wheels, presenting a moving target.  Tony stared at the bot, baffled, and Clint released an arrow.  It pierced through the center of the paper target, then angled a bit downwards and landed solidly in the bullseye on the standing targets at the far end of the range.  “What the hell?” he said at last, when he was able to pick his jaw up from the floor.  Across the floor, Butterfingers was whirring and beeping rapidly – his version of cheering – and his claw was waving in excitement as he snatched up another target and moved, picking another spot before starting all over again.

 

Clint shrugged.  “Your moving targets are too predictable,” he informed Tony cheerfully.  Tony scowled, trying to recall how much programming he had actually put into the targets.  He realized that he had started with a basic series of motion patterns, but had never upgraded it to be completely random.  If Clint had figured out the patterns, then he’d know where the target was going to be before it was there.

 

“I’ll fix that, then,” Tony murmured, his mind already flying across the adjustments he’d need to make.  His arms were crossed over his chest, his fingers drumming idly on the opposite elbow as he thought.  It shouldn’t prove terribly difficult to make the targets move in a completely random non-pattern within a confined space.  He’d just have to make sure that they never repeated direction and speed at the same time during a session.

 

While Tony was lost in contemplation, Clint had sunk another four arrows through the targets at the back of the range, after piercing through the paper targets that Butterfingers was holding.  Tony wasn’t really sure what the purpose of the paper targets was, except for perhaps to help Clint work on his angling.  It really was something to watch, something that Tony hadn’t exactly appreciated before. 

 

Oh, sure, it was great in battle to know that Hawkeye’s accuracy would probably save his life at least once.  Or at least prevent him from getting smacked around or ambushed by the enemy.  But it wasn’t like flying and fighting for his life left Tony with a lot of time to admire the archer in action.  So getting to see this was a rare treat, especially since it was only recently that Clint would trust anybody who wasn’t Natasha or Phil to be in the room while he was practicing.

 

Clint was often underestimated, being considered the only normal human on a team of geniuses and super humans.  Even Natasha had a reputation as the Black Widow.  Clint was just…Clint, ex-carnie who wielded a bow and arrow.  But Tony knew the truth – Clint was a scary-ass motherfucker, and anybody crossing him had better expect an arrow in their ass in short order.  It pleased Tony greatly to know that Clint was so dangerous – they all were, really – but that he accepted Tony as a teammate and friend anyway.

 

“What’re you thinking, Stark?” Clint grunted over at him, and Tony blinked, realizing that the repetitive whine and thunk of arrows being loosed into targets had stopped some minutes earlier.  He blinked, then shook his head roughly, putting on an easy grin as he leaned against the wall and waited for Clint to finish packing up.

 

“Just wondering what other sorts of arrows I could make,” he replied.  While that wasn’t strictly true, that actually had been his original purpose in coming here.  Checking on Butterfingers was just a perk.  “I figured I’d get your input first, rather than just making what I think would be cool.”  Admittedly, anything that he thought up would undoubtedly be awesome, but he was part of a team now, and he really _was_ trying to make things work.  Hence the loaning of Butterfingers to their resident archer, no questions asked.  Well, okay, maybe some questions, but that was only because he was genuinely curious about what purpose an archer could possibly have with one of Tony’s bots.

 

Clint grinned wickedly, sauntering over and wrapping his arms around Tony’s neck, mock swooning.  “The great Tony Stark, offering me shiny new tech.  Whatever shall I do with myself?” he moaned.

 

Tony just smirked, his hands gripping Clint’s waist as he bent the other man backwards, leering at him.  “Oh, I can think of a few things, Barton,” he growled.  The archer just laughed at him, flexing his hands where they gripped the back of Tony’s neck, reminding the genius of his strength.  But he was grinning, not phased at all.

 

“You know I’m taken,” he purred back.

 

Tony grinned, then released the blonde, ducking out from under his arms, and letting Clint tip backwards – right into Butterfingers.  His yelp of surprise and outrage was totally worth the murderous glare Tony got for his pains.  He batted his eyes at Clint, who just sighed in disgust, straightening himself up.  Butterfingers plucked at his vest, but the archer ignored him, keeping pace with Tony.

 

“I’ve had some ideas for new arrows,” he admitted reluctantly.

 

Tony raised an eyebrow.  “I figured,” he drawled.  Clint gave him an almost hesitant look, and Tony rolled his eyes.  “Look, I don’t know why you guys seem to think that I can read your minds, or maybe you think you’re imposing, but seriously, I pretty much live for this stuff.  I’m an engineer, and weapons are what I do.  Well,” he reconsidered, “what I used to do, before…before.”  He didn’t really want to talk about Afghanistan, especially not with any of the Avengers.

 

Before Clint could say something sympathetic that would probably just piss him off, Tony continued.  “But I know them in and out.  And if I can’t protect our soldiers anymore, because I can’t trust the damn government to do their job properly, then I can at least protect the team.  So if you want or need something, you have to tell me, okay?  The last thing I need is you taking a leap off a building and realizing that you don’t have any more grappling arrows or something.  So you have to tell me, okay?”

 

Clint nodded, his expression thoughtful.  “Yeah, all right,” he replied.  He eyed Tony consideringly for a moment, then apparently decided to go for broke.  “So…what are the chances that you can make directionally charged arrows?” he asked.  “Or arrows that have a sedative that can take down Hulk? And can pierce through a hide that thick.” 

 

Tony almost snickered at the memory of the one time Hulk’s anger had been turned towards Hawkeye.  None of the arrows that Clint had did a damn thing, and it took some serious effort on Steve’s and Tony’s parts to distract the big guy long enough for Hawkeye to slip out of sight.  Still, he guessed that it must’ve been scary; Natasha certainly hadn’t appreciated it when she heard about it later, having her own issues with the Hulk’s temper and propensity for smashing.

 

He nodded.  “Yeah, I can probably do that.  Shouldn’t be a problem,” he confirmed.  Clint was staring at him in disbelief.  “What?” Tony asked defensively, frowning at the archer.

 

Clint shook his head.  “Nothing,” he said, huffing out a short laugh.  “SHIELD R&D couldn’t do it.”  His eyes were dark with memories that Tony really didn’t want to touch on.  That was more Natasha’s deal.  Or even Agent’s.

 

Tony rolled his eyes.  “That’s because SHIELD R&D doesn’t have me,” he asserted with an exaggerated wink and a cocky tilt of his head, looking down his nose at the other man.  Clint grinned, his eyes lightening with amusement at Tony’s Stark-brand arrogance, the shadows chased away for the moment.  Tony counted it as his victory.

 

They parted at the elevators – Clint to take a shower and spend some time doing whatever it was he did when he wasn’t at the range or in the gym, and Tony back down to his lab.  “JARVIS, bring up the schematics for Clint’s arrows,” he commanded, snapping his fingers as blue displays popped up all around him.  Then he looked around, frowning.  “J, where’s Butterfingers?” he asked.  The bot had been following them, and then he wasn’t.

 

 _“Sir, Butterfingers appears to have taken the service elevator up to Agent Barton’s floor,”_ the AI replied after a moment.  _"Agent Barton granted him access using his override codes."_

 

Tony shook his head.  “Unbelievable,” he muttered.  JARVIS didn’t have a reply for that, and Tony shrugged it off after a moment.  If Clint didn’t want the bot around, he’d send him back down, and JARVIS would make sure that Butterfingers made it back to the lab.  He’d have to come down to charge at some point, regardless.  Until then, Tony wasn’t going to worry about him.

 

He lost himself in schematics and tests and fine detail work, working on shaping charges in exploding arrows and figuring out how to take the Hulk sedatives that were kept in the Tower and condense the formula into a tiny arrow head.  He'd have to increase the concentration, but the sheer amount of sedative it took to take Hulk down was nearly impossible to put into something that small.  Tony agreed with Clint that it was a good idea; he just wasn’t sure it was actually a feasible one.  He might have to try and convince Bruce (and Hulk) to let him test it out once he got the basics down.  Or perhaps Bruce had a better idea for something that might work better in small, concentrated amounts.  He made a mental note to ask, then had JARVIS make a note while he was at it, just to be safe.

 

At some point, he realized that he was no longer alone in the lab and looked up, expecting to see Bruce there.  Or maybe even Steve, though the other man was still incredibly sneaky about his comings and goings.  Tony didn’t know if that was on purpose, or if Steve just happened to always come when he was so involved in his work that he was unaware of anything short of the alarm that called for the Avengers to assemble.  He rather suspected that it was the former, that Steve enjoyed knowing that Tony trusted him enough to not even realize he was in the room with him.  Tony humored him and didn’t have JARVIS inform him when the other man was approaching.

 

Bruce was, indeed, in the lab, but he wasn’t paying attention to Tony, which was kind of insulting.  Rather, he was over by the bots, tossing a ball in the open area of the lab for Dummy to chase after.  Next to him, Clint was doing the same with Butterfingers.  Of the two of them, Dummy was faring much better.  Butterfingers kept dropping the ball, but it only made Clint grin.

 

You, the only bot whose preferred Avenger wasn’t in the building, was watching them curiously, but not jealously.  Tony smiled; You was scheduled for upgrades and testing next week, which should prove illuminating, if nothing else.

 

Sauntering over, Tony patted You, who turned his head to look at him and whirred curiously.  “Soon, buddy.  I’m almost ready with those upgrades,” he promised.  You beeped in acknowledgment, and stayed still when Tony leaned his hip against his chassis, crossing his arms over his chest.  Of all his bots, You was the last one made and probably the most advanced. He still had his quirks, but not like his older brothers did.

 

Bruce looked up at him and gave him a quiet smile.  Tony smiled back, but didn’t try to drag the other scientist into conversation.  Bruce came here for company when he needed to calm down, having discovered that playing with Dummy while Tony ignored both of them – or talked at them, not really expecting an answer – was surprisingly helpful when he was feeling stressed.  Being alone was worse, from what Tony had gathered.  Not that Tony doubted it – after Afghanistan, he hadn’t much cared for being alone, either, as long as the other person didn’t push him to talk about his time in captivity.  Alone meant too much time to think, too much time to remember things he'd much rather forget.

 

Clint looked up.  “Why’d you name him Butterfingers?” he asked.

 

Tony snorted, looking pointedly at the bot, who had just dropped the ball that Clint had thrown.  It hit a worktable and rolled into a glass pipe, sending it off the table with a quiet tinkle as it shattered.  Clint just grinned.  “Yeah, not disagreeing,” he nodded, “but why?”

 

Tony shrugged.  “Because they don’t care,” he dismissed.   Bruce was giving him a knowing look, though, and he sighed.  “Okay, so it might’ve had more to do with the fact that I was drunk at the time,” he admitted.

 

He had Clint’s complete attention now, and he shook his head.  Of course Barton would be interested in that.  “Each of them created their own name designations based off of my talking to myself,” he said.  “I rather suspect they got a bit of their personality from whatever was going on with me at the time, as well,” he explained wryly.

 

Clint arched an eyebrow.  “What? Like you called yourself Butterfingers or something when you turned him on?” he asked, gesturing over at the bot in question.

 

Tony shrugged.  “Yeah, something like that,” he agreed.  He didn’t feel like going into the whole story. Butterfingers was actually a bit different than his brothers.  Rhodey had named him, while teasing Tony.  At the time, Tony had been subsisting on coffee and seven hours of sleep out of ninety-six.  The next thing he knew, the only designation the bot would respond to was Butterfingers.  Tony still liked to tease his friend about that one.

 

Clint was eyeing him suspiciously, but shrugged.  Tony figured it was his turn to ask a question.  “Why him?” he asked.  Clint looked up at him, confused, and Tony gestured at the bot who had rolled back over to them, dropping the ball in Clint’s lap for him to throw again.  “Dummy here adores Bruce.  You has apparently got a thing for thunder and lightning.  JARVIS plots with Captain America.  What the hell made you pick Butterfingers?”

 

The archer was still staring at him like he’d grown three heads.  “I asked for a bot to help me on the range. You loaned me Butterfingers.  It wasn’t like I was gonna hate him or anything,” Clint retorted, almost angrily.  Butterfingers whirred sorrowfully, and Clint tossed the ball, sending the bot trundling after it.  The ball bounced itself between two tables, and Clint watched idly for a moment before continuing from where he’d left off, as if he’d never stopped.  “Besides, he’s actually kind of cool.  Yeah, he’s a bit klutzy, but so am I.  Shooting arrows is what I’m good at,” he shrugged.  “The rest of it? Not so much.”

 

Tony considered that for a moment.  “You’re selling yourself short, Barton,” he said at last.

 

Clint nodded easily.  “Maybe.  Like you’re doing with Butterfingers.”

 

Tony blinked down at him, barely flinching when Butterfingers whacked the table with his arm trying to get to the ball.  Dummy beeped an inquiry and wandered over to help his brother as Tony cracked a small smile.  “I was wondering where you were going with that, Birdbrain,” he accused, his tone amused. 

 

Clint grinned back up at him.  “Yeah, well, what can I say? Butterfingers is a pretty accurate name for him, but I like him anyhow.”

 

Tony clapped approvingly as the bots managed to retrieve the ball after shoving the table over and managing to spill only half of the tools on it to the floor.  Yeah, he could see what Barton was getting at.  Dummy and Butterfingers and You were his, whatever else they might be.  They had their own quirks and personalities, and Tony loved them all the more for it.

 

As Butterfingers made his way back over to Clint, quite obviously pleased with himself, Tony turned away.  He had some arrows to make.


End file.
